


Here goes nothing

by junetangerine (culuyetille)



Series: Already in motion [1]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Bruce is emotionally inept, Dick isn't much better, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Tim deserves hugs and coffee, oblivious idiots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-07-02 03:23:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15787941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/culuyetille/pseuds/junetangerine
Summary: A lesser man would’ve either socked Bruce or jumped his bones, but Dick had had over a decade to learn suppress & repress from the very best, so he just smiled and valiantly took it in stride.Or: In another life, they might’ve been like father and son or brothers, but in this one there was just this massive wreck of love between them, making everything so damn hard.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've played fast and loose with canon. This story is set somewhere after Tim started as Robin and before Jason returned.   
> This story is the first in a three-part series. The next ones will include Dom/sub dynamics and heaps of smut, but this one is pretty tame and can be read as a stand-alone if the other stuff isn't your cuppa. I hope you have fun!

Bruce was so overwhelmingly disciplined that it was easy to forget that their age difference was 12 years, not 30.  
The whole old money thing and having been raised by an impeccably-mannered British butler probably helped, too; “casual” was as alien to Bruce as winging it. He was impervious to slang and thought slouching was a character flaw. And even though Dick knew better, Bruce was very good at making it seem like he had always been grave, precise and mercilessly thorough.  
Right now, though, as Bruce entered the kitchen sporting a navy-blue robe and a bad case of bedhead, Dick was struck by how damn attractive the man was. The feeling wasn’t new, but it tended to not squirm much these days under their train-wreck of a history and Bruce’s ‘no emotions, only Justice’ drivel.

His throat felt only a little dry as he greeted, “Good morning, Bruce.”  
“Dick!”

Bruce turned to him, surprise dancing in his eyes and the shadow of a smile on his lips. This was an unannounced visit.

“How late did you stay out, to miss a grown man in your kitchen?” Dick joked.  
“What brings you here?” Bruce countered, pouring himself a cup of coffee. He sat across from Dick, staring at him in that undivided way he had. It made lots of people nervous, but without the cowl Dick took it as attention and didn’t mind. The opposite, even.  
“An errand for Babs. I went straight to the Tower from patrol, thought I’d stop by and see you guys before heading home.” He cut off a forkful of syrup-drenched pancake and added in a conspiratorial tone, “You’re not the only one I surprised today. Alfred raised _both_ eyebrows when he opened the door.”

Bruce sipped his coffee and did that thing where his face remained mostly still but his eyes crinkled a little at the corners, which Dick knew to decode as a smile.

“Yes, three types of pancakes is a bit much, even for him.”  
“You’re welcome,” replied Dick with a wink and a faux-smug grin.

Bruce helped himself to the pancakes and some fruit.

“Oh, and now that the sun is out, I thought I’d leave my bike at the Cave and come back for it tonight.”  
“Okay. Should I tell Alfred to expect you for dinner?”  
“Is dinner lasagne Bolognese?”

\----^^----

Later that morning, as Bruce knotted his tie in preparation for a day fielding bureaucracy and politics at Wayne Enterprises, he found himself distracted. Dick’s visit had been an unexpected treat. Their return to each other’s lives had been slow and bumpy enough that even now, years from ground zero, he knew to appreciate it that Dick felt comfortable enough to not ask formal permission to leave his motorcycle at the place that had once been his home.  
Although there were still sore spots, it was undeniable that Dick’s presence changed the atmosphere at the Manor. He had never minded carrying the bulk of the conversation, keeping it light. Breakfast had been easy and familiar, except for the haunting pull of something Bruce saw in Dick’s eyes when they first locked with his own. It had soon given way to warmth and mirth as Dick sung the (highly deserved) praises of Alfred’s cooking. (They both knew he was really talking about the comfort of an intimacy that had been shattered and which they were painstakingly putting back together, as much as such a thing was even possible.)

It had flashed between them, a moment before they could collect themselves and it all slotted in place – everything that had already happened between the two of them, all that they were to each other, all the reasons they had to be wary. It had been quick, but it had been _there_. Bruce knows what he saw, and it won’t leave him alone. He knows people, and he knows Dick.

Then again, it could be wishful thinking. Bruce has spent enough energy shutting down his grossly inappropriate urges towards his former ward that he can’t deny their existence, that his gargantuan hunger for Dick’s companionship and dedication has other, less commendable sides. Those aspects are seizing the opportunity to crawl out from under the rock he usually keeps over them and whisper insidiously about how it’s not far-fetched at all that Dick might find him handsome. He does like men, after all, and Bruce isn’t unaware of how his efficient body is perceived by others.  
He also knows that it could never be just physical between the two of them. Far too much history. And regardless of how much Dick takes issue with it, Bruce does have a responsibility towards him; he can’t possibly be good for the younger man.  
Still, more accurate data is always useful for planning the most effective course of action. It would be wise to ascertain whether he’d need to factor in any attraction from Dick towards himself in their future dealings and, more importantly, their Work together.

\----^^----


	2. Chapter 2

The first time Bruce saw Dick after their Argument was on a scratchy black-and-white Blüdhaven CCTV video. It was unmistakably him, Robin’s tactical training and grace as he expertly took out wrongdoers with more flare than necessary but solid method nonetheless. There were some new moves, driving a spike of jealousy through Bruce’s midsection as he entertained the very plausible possibility that Dick might’ve sought out another mentor. More than the new punches and kicks, however, it gave Bruce pause to see the old ones on a young man’s body.

It was a pang of acute, unmistakable, horrifying desire that stilled his hand and made sure he stayed away until it had been properly ~~suppressed~~ dealt with.

 

\----^^----

 

Sure enough, by the time Dick realised he was into guys as much as girls, it became kind of hard not to notice Bruce. Bruce, with his sculpted physique and steady strength and maddening form-fitting outfits. Dick wrote it all off as misfiring teenager hormones, and if some of it channelled into rebellion and their escalading arguments, well. He’d been furious at himself even back then, knowing that how he felt was stupid and wrong, which only made him more adamant about the things he knew he was right about.

Besides, Bruce was strictly into women.

Strangely enough, that had made it all the easier to work up the nerve to come out to him at 17. Less of a chance of being discovered. Bruce may be the world’s greatest detective, but he wasn’t so great with the emotional stuff, so it was likely he’d interpret any slips on Dick’s part as nervousness about his orientation.

It also helped to know that the conversation was bound to be a short one. For all he constantly gave Bruce a hard time about it, sometimes the man’s monosyllabic tendencies were a blessing.

 

“Bruce? Do you have a moment?”

 

Bruce’s head shot right up from the papers he’d been engrossed in. For years Dick had known better than to disturb him in his study, the logical conclusion was that this must be some urgent matter.

 

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes. There’s just something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

 

Bruce nodded, then straightened the abandoned papers into a pile and pushed them neatly aside to signal that he was granting full attention to the conversation. Dick let himself in and closed the door. He came to stand before the massive desk, a Wayne family heirloom going back over a century. It made Dick feel inappropriate in more ways than one, as though it knew all about the other things he didn’t intend to say a word about.

 

Bruce just waited patiently.

 

“I’m not straight.”

 

Bruce’s face didn’t move at all. It remained earnest, open, so Dick kept talking.

 

“I’m attracted to men. Women too, but. Yeah.” He swallowed, torn between taking the leap of trust that was being offered and quitting while he was ahead. Bruce could be mighty judgmental, and while Dick knew there wasn’t anything inherently wrong with how he was wired and had never known his guardian to be a bigot, there was always the chance he’d take it personally. That last thought made him stick out his chin a little as he added, “I thought you should know.”

 

Bruce nodded, lips twitching up in a smile that felt strained. Or maybe Dick’s eyesight was being affected by how hard his heart was hammering in his chest. It couldn’t be good for his circulation, and really that interfered with pretty much everyth–

 

“I see. Are you, ah, seeing anyone?”

 

Dick’s heart came to a sudden stop. _Oh my god oh my god oh my god_ , it couldn’t be! His panic must’ve been all over his face, because Bruce clarified, clearly stepping on eggs but putting on a brave face, “Should I meet them?”

 

Relief washed over Dick. _God, you’re just itching to have a name to run the world’s most thorough background check on, aren’t you?_ he thought. Bruce’s protectiveness and borderline paranoia often bothered Dick, but right now its normalcy made it welcome. He was even able to muster one of his easy smiles.

 

“Not at the moment, no. Just thought I’d keep you in the loop.”

“I appreciate that.”

 

Bruce’s shoulder line softened considerably, and he offered Dick a small but genuine smile.

 

\----^^----

 

From a young age, Bruce had kept his dalliances with men on the down low; he didn’t need the press to be any more obsessed with his private life than they already were, and sadly same-sex attraction was still considered scandalous.

It had seemed prudent to extend that hush-hush policy to his young ward. The boy looked up to him in every way, and Bruce feared that he might somehow influence him. If there was a natural inclination, it would show up eventually, just like it had in Bruce’s own case. And while he avoided associating that trait with his own image, Bruce did make a point of making it very clear to Dick that bigotry in that respect was as absurd as in any other.

 

When he learned that Dick was like him, he was very tempted to drop the secrecy and talk to him earnestly about the challenges that presented, especially for people in the public eye such as themselves. (Sometimes, training Dick to navigate being Gotham’s elite felt harder than training him to dodge fists and bullets.) He didn’t mean for the young man to spend his life closeted, just that he be made aware of how people would feel entitled to a say in his personal business.  

Then again, Dick was much better at juggling the double life they led than Bruce had ever been. There was a chance he’d be able to do well where Bruce had retreated; maybe even have a real relationship someday, with someone worthy and who made him happy. So Bruce once again chose silence.

 

Over the years, there had been times when he’d wanted to come clean. But as time went by and his and Dick’s relationship began cracking at the seams, the omission became more and more likely to be perceived as lack of trust, and the topic was never visited.

 

\----^^----

 

Pretty much all of Dick’s SOs had, at some point or other, complained about feeling like the other woman. And it was not like he’d drop everything and rush to Bruce’s side at the drop of a hat, except for the part where that was exactly what he’d done more times than he could count.

Way back when, it had started out as him not wanting Bruce to take on the entire world by himself, and even though there was now an entire clan wearing the bat symbol Dick liked to think he still brought something to the table. Hell, after their falling out and estranged years, he’d more than once had to argue to be frigging _allowed_ to fight alongside Bruce, shouting himself hoarse but somehow always avoiding stating the obvious, that it had less to do with the mighty Batman needing assistance (even though he sometimes did) than with how their cowled personas stood a better chance of getting through a couple of hours together without butting heads, and he happened to actually like being around Bruce, okay.

 

And if a disturbing percentage of his male one-night-stands consisted of square-jawed men with enough muscle power to hoist him against a wall, well, he’d long ago accepted that he was royally messed up. He’s pretty sure he’s not alone in having fantasies about Bruce Wayne or the Batman, even if to the rest of the population those don’t come with the dregs of a teenage crush that never really faded and a detailed knowledge of the man’s body that makes its gaps all the more glaring. What he wouldn’t give to know how Bruce’s back arches when he’s getting good head, the sounds he makes when he needs to demand something but can no longer find his words.

He won’t even go into the multitude of convoluted feelings he has for Bruce, and how sometimes, when they’re having it out or during the quiet lulls of typing up reports after a night of successful patrolling, the urge to kiss him rears its ugly head. That’s one can of worms he has learned to keep tightly shut. Their relationship is strained enough as is without any more potential things for Bruce to not know how to deal with / declare good reason why Dick should stay away.

 

\----^^----


	3. Chapter 3

If Dick didn’t know better, he’d swear Bruce was purposefully trying to drive him crazy.

 

For starters, lasagne Bolognese was now a regular occurrence at the Manor. Somehow, word about Dick’s dietary habits had gotten to Alfred and the man was making it his mission to fill the many nutrition gaps left by living off of morning cereal. Tim would gladly seize the opportunity to stuff his face, getting only mild rebukes from Alfred and Bruce about how he might make himself sick later. Not only did little brothers have it easy, but also Bruce probably missed Tim’s second ginormous helping because he was too busy watching Dick like a hawk. A big, dark and not very subtle hawk scanning Dick for… something. Bruce’s gaze wasn’t evaluating, though; Dick had been on the receiving end of _that_ stare often enough to know it well. This was more like he expected Dick to up and leave at any moment and was trying to figure out how much he could get away with. Weekly dinner? Joint patrol twice in five days? A Saturday afternoon working on the Batmobile?

 

The last one had been… difficult. During dinners and costumed outings, Alfred and Tim were dutiful buffers and very invested in having Dick around more often. But when it was just him and Bruce at the Cave, alone in that zone where the cowl was neither off nor on and sharing a goal but with different ways of going about it, it was hard not to just ask what was this all about. What did Bruce want from him? Was it his time, loyalty? Didn’t he know he had those already, and always would?

 

It really didn’t help matters that Bruce looked like something out of a sleazy porn movie, dressed in what was probably his only pair of jeans and a white wife-beater, hair mussed and sweaty, a couple smudges of grease strategically placed on his face and mouth-watering upper arms. Also, to Dick’s despair, the man’s formerly excellent notions of personal space seemed shot to hell. There was no actual touching, just that proximity that allowed you to feel the warmth of the other person’s skin and did a number on your self-control.

 

Part of Dick was ecstatic at all the quality time, another part of him was sceptical about his own ability to not drop the ball on this and a third, screechy part kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, because there must be something going on.

 

There were true gems, such as the time he was asked to spot as Bruce lifted a very close approximation of Dick’s weight (which he’d totally known the older man could pull off but _come on_ , so unfair!), or that one time Bruce texted to explicitly offer Dick the use of the computer for his detecting needs. It had confused Dick enough to ask if there had been some sort of ban on it he’d been unaware of, to which Bruce had replied with a short, stiff “No.”, with a fricking period, mind you, because that’s Bruce Wayne for you.

 

Dick had a ten-day reprieve while off-world helping Conner, but he was dragged right back into Bruce’s disorienting olive-branch attempts by a phone call with the actual words “I could use some sparing against an agile partner”. Dick had wisely been ‘unavailable’, but _Jeez_.

 

It was something even his attention-starved mind wouldn’t dare conceive. A lesser man would’ve either socked Bruce or jumped his bones, but Dick had had over a decade to learn suppress & repress from the very best, so he just smiled and valiantly took it in stride, enjoying this fluke of attention and stocking up on what was probably the world’s largest bank of Bruce-centred fantasy material.

 

\----^^----

 

With everything that was going on, Dick had zero qualms getting some stress relief with willing strangers. He would’ve loved to pick Babs’, Alfred’s or Tim’s brains on Bruce’s strange behaviour, but didn’t trust himself to steer the conversation clear of the iceberg of his own attraction to his mentor, so keeping himself sated seemed like the feasible coping strategy.

 

And of course it just figured that the one time he failed to mention to his one-night stand that he had a desk job and hickeys were a big no-no would be right before he was called in to assist Batman and Robin with a case.

For the first year or so after his and Bruce’s reunion, Dick had gone out of his way to stress the fact that his life was now very much his own. That had quieted down eventually, as Nightwing established himself and earned his place in the crime-fighting and Earth-defending biz. However, even though usually he wasn’t shy about having an active sex life, around Bruce that sort of thing was just… weird.

So Dick covered up the mark before heading out to meet the dynamic duo, going as far as to use the top of the line stuff he kept for disguising purposes. It was good, but not enough to hold through fishing the last perp out of the river. He’d been pissed off, shivering and had forgotten all about the purple monstrosity on his neck, when Batman zeroed in on it. The man’s eyes narrowed and his mouth became a thin line.

Tim just gave Dick a shit-eating grin and shook his head.

 

“Man, where do you even find the time?”

“Are you kidding me? Police officer _and_ acrobat? I’m like, cruising jackpot.”

 

 _Oh Grayson, if only your brain’s emergency shutdown sequence didn’t activate a quipping protocol_ , said his conscience, which pretty much alternated between Babs’ and Alfred’s voices, with occasional cameos by Madam Velazquez, Haly’s fortune-teller and surrogate grandma to all circus brats.

Metal clanked against the ground. Both Tim and Dick turned to face the Batman, who knelt down to retrieve his handcuffs and swiftly immobilised their last target.

 

Batman flat-out growled, “If we’re done revealing identity-compromising details, there’s still work to do.”

“He was out,” said Dick, indicating the perp with his chin. He put on his most belligerent _I’m not an idiot_ frown.

 

Bruce just grappled away.

 

\----^^----

 

For all they were seeing of each other lately, small talk still wouldn’t fly, as demonstrated when Bruce, in lieu of a civilised ‘Hello’, replied to Dick’s greeting with, “You sound hoarse. Are you sick?”

 

Dick winced, then found his lips curling in a rueful smile. Bruce’s mother-henning drove him up the walls sometimes, but about little things it wasn’t all bad. So long as Alfred didn’t show up within the next few hours with homemade chicken soup.

 

“That’s actually why I’m calling. I wanted to see if you can spare Tim for one night, of maybe if he finishes early with you… ‘Cause I really can’t make it out of bed tonight but I’ve been staking out some gun smugglers, trying to catch their suppliers and...” He was interrupted by a pathetic coughing fit. “He wouldn’t be doing anything dangerous by himself, I just need a pair of eyes.”

“How did you get sick?”

 

Fishing a kid out of a frozen pond, actually. If Bruce wasn’t being such an ass about it, he’d get the story. But Dick was burning with fever, low on patience and not interested in feeding the man’s authoritarian streak, so he back-flipped.

 

“Not all of us have weatherproof cowls and capes.”  

“All of us should have the good sense to find cover.”

 _That’s rich, coming from someone that gets shot every other week_ , he didn’t say, because he was technically asking for a favour here. Instead, he stifled his temper and went with, “Yes, well, some of us got a little caught up.”

“It happened during the day, didn’t it,” Bruce said flatly in the semi-accusatory tone he always used when discussing Dick’s job. The crystal-clear subtext was, _It’s not enough to carry a gun and go against criminals without proper armour, you also have to be exposed to the weather._ That argument was so old that it didn’t even inflame Dick anymore, just made him sink deeper into the cushions of his couch.

“Look, can I borrow him or not?”

“I’ll speak to Robin and have him contact you.”

“I can talk to him myself, just wanted to check in with the boss first.”

No response.

“O-kay. Thanks. I’ll let you get back to whatever it is that I interrupted. Bye.”

 

* * *

 

“Bye, Dick,” he said to the mute receiver.

 

Bruce wasn’t the type to say things like ‘get well soon’, ‘do you need anything?’ or ‘I’ll call tomorrow to check up on you’, even though he meant them. He was, however, just the type to review the schematics and maintenance records for the heating at Dick’s apartment building. The weatherproof textile technology breakthrough to randomly select the BPD as a suitable field for its test studies would have to take longer and be more circuitous, but it would come.

 

\----^^----

 

The downside of Bruce’s current data-gathering operation is that the mental images of Dick’s possible designs towards him are… getting to him.

 

(When they make it back to the Cave on a good night, still keyed up from patrol and with the world at their fingertips, it takes every ounce of Bruce’s considerable willpower not to pick Dick up, tug his legs around his waist and plunder his smiling mouth for moans. Work him open, then claim him. Work his body into spasms of pleasure, drink his gasps, be deep inside him as he comes undone.)

 

He isn’t so much flirting with Dick as trying to verify the younger man’s reaction to what might be construed as availability on his part. The interaction scenarios were carefully designed for ambiguity, simultaneously fitting within the framework of their acknowledged relationship and affording the fathomed possibility of something else.

 

Dick is on unstable terrain, that much is certain. He seems genuinely engaged in their new proximity, even careful of it. But it is as if a veil has been lifted from Bruce’s eyes and he can finally see what Dick’s body language spells out. How it welcomes him at every chance. But it’s kept in check and he can only extrapolate what it would be like if unleashed. In all likelihood, more than he’d know what to do with. Yet he keeps teasing out morsels, and there’s no other word for his conduct except fascination, or maybe catastrophe.

His own body is attuned to Dick’s. It’s born out of practice but also something else, an effortless harmony they just fall into if neither is actively trying to hijack the metaphorical steering wheel. (It has been long enough that he can admit to having done that; maybe not to the extent Dick accused him of, but enough to have some atoning to do.)

The other thing every line in Dick’s body communicates, and that has always drawn Bruce in, is how he enjoys himself at what they do. There’s duty and commitment but also effusiveness, an untameable lightness. Headstands aren’t just practice but also fun, upsetting Bruce’s strict categorisation system where the function of any given thing is its core, defining trait.

 

Protégé, student, partner; that was a natural progression. But to go from that to lovers would be setting a course through uncharted, dark waters. (Bruce has been in love before, but always with the failsafe of the Crusade. There has never been the potential for this level of exposition, this unspeakable rawness.)

 

And yet, hesitation costs him dearly. Bruce has long ago come to terms with the reality of Dick Grayson being an attractive man, but now each confirmation that his desire may be reciprocated blows the embers into a furnace. The incident with the mark on Dick’s neck had driven him to distraction at the irrefutable evidence that somebody out there got to _enjoy_ Dick as a casual conquest while he, Bruce, failed to even present himself as an option for something else. Even when all evidence suggests that it would be his for the taking.

Perhaps he will work up to it in time. For now, however, he’ll take care of bodily inconveniences as he always has.

 

\----^^----

 

On a somewhat chilly Thursday evening, Dick went to Gotham to retrieve some documents requested by the BPD. As was becoming a habit, he used the opportunity to drop by the Manor. Bruce was out, but Alfred made him a snack and let him know Tim was downstairs.

He ended up watching little bro put his mad hacker skillz to work – namely, using the computer to organise the data he’d been collecting on a money-laundering op. It was Dick’s day off and in a couple of hours he would be patrolling Blüdhaven’s southwest section, but for now he was content to eat popcorn and bug Tim about that cute girl he kept mentioning, Stephanie. His wondering gaze roamed the big live Gotham map that took up four 60’ screens.

 

“Hey, that’s Bruce’s tracker, right?” he pointed to the dot right over one of Gotham’s oldest gay bars. “Is he working a case at the Labyrinth?”

“Uh…no?” said Tim, in a really weirded-out voice.

“Then what’s the occasion? Some friend’s birthday or something?”

 

Tim finally stopped working, swivelled around in his chair and gave him a carefully, studiously blank look.

 

Dick could feel his jaw slack open as the penny dropped. Surely, Tim couldn’t mean… Bruce…

 

His utter disbelief must’ve shown in his face, for Tim said kindly, “I just assumed this was one of the gazillion things you guys Don’t Talk About because it would be Too Awkward.”

 

In Tim’s defence, the list was a long one and included things of different magnitudes, such as all the crazy crap Bruce had spiralled into after Jason’s death, Dick’s freakishly good shooting scores and their standing disagreement over the ~~fashion~~ safety merits of the low-cut collar on the first Nightwing costume. 

 

“Right.” Dick licked his lips and tried to corral his jumbled thoughts. “Just so we’re clear and I’m not entering the Armageddon of all misunderstandings here: Bruce…”

“Is straight and dumb only in the social columns.”

“I think I kinda need to sit down for this one.”

 

If they had been standing on top of a building, he would’ve jumped right out. There was a clarity to free-falling that was entirely too lacking right now.

 

Tim gave him a mock sympathetic grimace. “Should I ring Alfred for tea?”

Dick snorted and slapped him upside the head, grateful for the reprieve. “Hey, give a guy a break. Sort of going through a life-changing revelation here.”

“Oh yes, the realisation that I’m a better detective than all of you combined should floor you alright.”

 

At that, Dick laughed and reached to ruffle Tim’s hair, just because. Tim evaded easily. At the map, Bruce’s dot was still blinking steadily because the big lug was never not on call.

It was crazy. How come Gotham’s impressive gossip mill hadn’t caught wind of this? Did Bruce go in disguise? Dick had been to the Labyrinth. It wasn’t a dive, but it was no place for romance either.

He realised that he was standing at attention with his chin jutted forward in an erstwhile impression of his mentor’s determined stare. Tim let out a low whistle.

 

“Oh, my. I probably want to take a long vacation while you guys hash this one out, don’t I?”

“Nah, I’ve got this,” Dick said, with much more confidence than he felt.

 

\----^^----


	4. Chapter 4

In possession of this crucial piece, Dick finally began to make sense of the puzzle. Meaning that he could now see that during the past few weeks Bruce had, in a very roundabout and sneaky way, essentially been coming on to him.

That one, he did have to sit down for.

Damn.

This was a _classic_ Bruce move, to put him through secret tests rather than talk about things like a normal human being. Dick wanted to laugh, cry and maybe punch the bastard in the nose, but mostly his brain was stuck on _holy shit, Bruce wants to bone me._

 

It must’ve been a hell of an awkward last couple of weeks for Tim.  

 

He couldn’t feel bad for long, because it was like the floodgates had burst and every fantasy he had dismissed in years was now racing to the forefront of his mind, and not just the ones about showing Bruce exactly how bendy he could be, but the other stuff too, like cuddling on the couch or kiss-hello.

This was just… too much. Handling his own share of this thing between them was tricky enough; working around Bruce’s convoluted way of going about all things emotional might be more than Dick could take on. Even if the prize was something he hadn’t in his wildest dreams ever hoped to have within reach.

 

In another life, they might’ve been like father and son or brothers, but in this one there was just this massive wreck of love between them, making everything so damn _hard_.

 

\----^^----

 

Later that night, as Dick tied up a stealing doctor to the two lowlifes that distributed the ill-gotten oxy on the streets, his mind wasn’t a hundred percent on it.

He could always tackle this head on, steal a kiss from Bruce or something; be the change you want to see in the world and all that. Except all the skulking suggested the big guy was nowhere near ready to have it out in the open and might very well take a scorched earth approach.

On the other hand, Dick didn’t think he’d have the heart to be disingenuous about this. He didn’t resent Bruce for doing it, because it came from a place of uncertainty, but in his case it would be deceit, plain and simple, and beneath what he’d like them to be.

Which wasn’t to say he wouldn’t give things a little nudge, as soon as he had collected himself enough to figure out how to do that.

 

\----^^----

 

There are roughly three parts to a basic two-person flying trapeze act. One, the flyer jumps off the platform and swings to build momentum. Two, the flyer releases the bar and performs aerial tricks. Three, the flyer is caught by the catcher. Rinse and repeat.

Now, one of the first things you learn is to wait for the catcher’s cue before launching yourself into the air. Even if you’re just grabbing an empty bar, someone has got to swing it at you at the right time. In their case, that would mean letting Bruce know that if there was ever a sure thing, Dick was it. And since the clearer something was said the more Bruce tended not to listen to it, this might be a time for Dick to do what he often did when he needed to get something into that thick cowled skull: let the man himself find the facts and be the one to take action. Or, in other words, it was time to stop hiding.

 

\----^^----

 

It was almost dawn when Bruce dragged his feet up the stairs leading to the bedroom wing. He and Robin had had a long night dealing with Freeze’s latest scheme then rounding up his associates all over the yacht basin. Thankfully it was Saturday, so he wouldn’t need to message his PA to clear out Bruce Wayne’s morning schedule over some flimsy excuse. He looked forward to a shower and laying his sore body on the mattress for a couple of hours.

As he passed Dick’s bedroom, he was surprised to see a note taped to the door.

 

 _‘Pls wake me up for breakfast,’_ it read; and scrawled below in progressively smaller handwriting and still barely fitting inside the post-it, the afterthought, _‘Not harmed, just drunk’_

 

That was probably connected to Oracle’s half-amused and half-scandalised hooting _‘Grayson!’_ and then ‘sorry guys, wrong channel’ around two a.m. She had assisted them and the police all night long, and therefore had not been involved in whatever Dick had gotten up to. (Even now, something in Bruce sagged at Barbara and Dick’s rapport, at how she had always seemed able to handle his moods and get through to him, at how good they were together. For his part, he had behaved poorly when Dick was hurting after they broke things off. He knew that his lack of sympathy had let Dick down, but really it had been all he could do at the time to bite back the words burning on the tip of his tongue, such as how the Crusade took its toll on relationships and _she was never going to keep you_.)

 

The door was not closed, just slightly ajar, so Bruce stepped inside to lay eyes on Dick for a moment. Whatever the reason, it was good to have him home.

 

* * *

 

Five hours later, Bruce was treated to the gratifying sight of Alfred fussing over someone other than him.

 

“I assure you, Master Richard, pancakes will not restore your dehydrated system. Savoury food is a much preferable alternative.”

“You just want to punish me.”

“Nonsense, you manage that just fine on your own.”

“At least let me have coffee?”

“Cranberry juice is decaffeinated and not as corrosive to your stomach,” declared Alfred with finality.

 

Dick sighed dramatically, then tried the juice and made a face at it. Alfred remained unmoved. Bruce smiled and added sugar to his coffee, at which Dick gave him the stink eye. Bruce raised both eyebrows just so, and Dick’s entire demeanour changed. As soon as Alfred’s back was turned, Bruce sneaked Dick his mug. He watched in satisfaction as Dick took a big gulp, his eyes nearly closing in bliss. As he returned it, they brushed fingers. It wouldn’t have set off any bells if Dick hadn’t been giving him a look of eternal gratitude entirely disproportionate to morning beverages.

 

Alfred returned with a tray. He set the infamous wholemeal toast with grilled tomatoes and mushrooms in front of Dick and a plate of scrambled eggs with sausage and toast for Bruce, a portion clearly too large for him. The man missed nothing.

 

“I was planning on staying for the weekend, but I don’t think you guys want me here,” Dick whined at Alfred’s retreating back, pointedly cutting into his low-fat breakfast with more force than necessary.

“Master Bruce and myself only want what’s best for you.”

Dick muttered, “I like to think I know what that is.”

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce caught a not very furtive longing glance towards himself. His hands were perfectly steady as he transferred some of his breakfast to Dick’s plate. He received a bright smile.

 

***

 

It was simultaneously one of the most terrifying and most liberating things Dick had ever made himself do.

On Friday night, he drove to Gotham for the send-off party of a high-school buddy that had been transferred to Seoul. He hadn’t gotten that plastered in years. The climb up the stairs to his old room at the Manor was a challenge, and he had the vague impression that he had butt-dialled Babs at some point.

He woke up to the mother of all hangovers and Alfred not-sneering as he pulled the curtains open and informed him that Bruce had said Dick was to be present at breakfast. Also, because Alfred was a saint, there was water and two aspirin on the bedside table.

The shower had revived Dick enough to remember that he had made a Decision and had a Plan, which consisted mostly of rolling over and enticing Bruce with his metaphorical soft belly. He liked to think that he had pretty solid game, but Bruce was the epicentre of a distortion field that gave Dick a terminal case of foot-in-mouth, so maybe sticking to nonverbal would actually be for the best.

Alfred’s sass was a godsend, and Dick happily kept up his part of the breakfast banter. Then Bruce came to the rescue, as he often had when it was the two of them learning how much fun there was to be had in flying through Gotham’s skyscrapers, and it had cost Dick dearly not to look down or away but instead let his eyes find Bruce’s, let the man see how much Dick treasured their closeness.

 

Nothing happened. No interdimensional portals with his future self popping up to let him know what a terrible move that had been, no spontaneous combustion on anybody’s part. Bruce lost his relaxed near-smile but did not retreat, physically or otherwise, and that was a win on Dick’s book where displays of affection where concerned.

 

\----^^----

 

Contrary to popular belief, Bruce is very aware of his shortcomings. He feels downright thick at the pronounced increase in Dick’s presence at the Manor. Clearly, he should have reached out sooner.

Even as the thought formed, he knew it was moot. He couldn’t have. For a long time, having Dick around was not easy for him. Too much of a reminder of what he had lost. Too many wounds barely and badly healed, just waiting to tear open again at an ill-placed word or look. Too much awareness of how little he did control, a swell of frustration that spattered all over the place as he would demand too much from Tim, be too harsh to Barbara, break a few more of his opponents’ bones than strictly necessary. Watching Dick and Tim interact did more than make it clear that he wasn’t training this Robin on his own; it also evidenced the stark contrast in Bruce’s own relationships with each of the boys. It made him long for a time when things were simpler and he didn’t have to wrestle the ghosts of so many failures, past and present, among them that terrible attraction to the young man he still considered his protégé.

 

At present, being near Dick still wasn’t simple, but there was now a soothing quality to it. Whenever desire flared, Bruce could at least tell himself that if Dick felt it too, it couldn’t be all bad.

 

\----^^----

 

Although Dick’s policy has been to walk the tightrope, neither hiding nor declaring how he feels about Bruce, there is one particular thing that needs to get across unequivocally.

It takes a while for circumstances to present themselves. The drive back to the Cave is long enough to be his best shot at cornering Bruce into something resembling an actual conversation. There _is_ an eject passenger button on the Batmobile’s dash, but Dick thinks the odds of Bruce resorting to that are slim. Mostly.

 

* * *

 

“So, when were you going to tell me you’re into men?”

 

Bruce freezes up, caught between wanting to snap ‘I’m not required to tell you _anything_ ’ and frantically trying to pinpoint what he had done to lead Dick to that conclusion.

They’re still in their suits. It’s highly inadvisable to upset a driver, especially at the speed they’re going, but Bruce has learned over the years that not much will deter Dick when he’s intent on talking something out.

The question was asked in a casual manner, but Dick did go through the trouble of bringing it up when he can’t walk away.

He sets his jaw and continues to drive.

As expected, it’s not long until Dick presses on.

 

“So, is this silence a ‘looking for the best way to put it’ or a ‘if I just scowl for long enough he’ll drop it’? Because we both know I can be stubborn too. And… this is important.”

 

Dick’s tone is not unkind, and his voice breaks a little on the last sentence. Trees fly by as they leave the city proper, on the road to the Manor.

 

It is. Important. Now, perhaps, more than ever.

 

When Bruce does speak, it’s barely audible.

 

“I’ve never ‘told’ anyone.”

 

Alfred knows, and he’s reasonably certain Tim has figured it out. Probably Barbara as well, what with her keeping tabs on all of them. But Bruce has never said the words. Has never ‘discussed’ it.

 

The shift is almost immediate. Dick’s body language goes from gearing up for a possible argument to sympathetic. _Oh, Bruce_ , is written all over the set of his eyebrows and his parted lips.

 

* * *

 

Dick feels like, well, a complete dick.

 

“I didn’t mean to come down on you so hard. It just,” he quickly weighted the merits of hijacking the conversation; Bruce sure looked as though he’d trade in the Bat Cave for a change of topic, so Dick went for it. “It kills me that you can shut me off.” He scratched the back of his neck despondently. “I never learned how. To do that. To you.”

 

There was a muffled reply.

 

“Hmm?”

“I said, that’s good.”

 

The words were harsh, but they were said in Bruce’s voice, not the Bat’s, and with a humbling roughness to them. It wasn’t what Dick had been expecting out of this conversation, but.

He clasped one hand on Bruce’s shoulder and allowed himself a smile.

 

“I guess so.”  

 

He rubbed Bruce’s shoulder with his thumb once, twice, before pulling his hand back.

 

 

Two days later, he received a text.

 

_B: < Got a new trapeze set. It needs testing. >_

 

\----^^----

 

Dick was the first person Bruce had actively sought out. The first soul to whom he’d thought he could give something other than protection, justice or punishment. (He’d wanted to give the boy strength and joy.) For his turn, Dick’s longest standing battle is that Bruce not be swallowed by revenge, rage, guilt, grief and duty.

Watching Dick fly on the new trapeze set, Bruce should be reminded that he met him as a child and that any data his operation dug up does not change the fact that him and Dick as a couple would be deplorable by any moral standards. However, all he sees is someone very dear looking ecstatic at something of his doing.

Following a triple-somersault for a big finish on the safety net, posture impeccable, sweaty and out of breath, Dick gives Bruce a fond – no, a _besotted_ look that threatens to give him tachycardia. Then he hops off the net, offers the room at large a bow and Bruce a double thumbs-up.

“Trapeze tested and approved, boss.”

“Show off,” says Tim, to Bruce’s right, sounding clearly in awe.

“I’ll teach you some tricks if you teach me how to unlock laptops. Much faster than interrogation.”

“Deal.” Tim eyes the trapeze excitedly, then turns to Bruce. “What happened to the old one? It still seemed to be in pretty good condition.”

“It was. I had it set up at the youth centre near the Kane building.”

 

Bruce’s answer earns him another powerful look from Dick. By all accounts, that much raw emotion on display should make him uncomfortable, but all he feels is hungry.

 

Dick is in high spirits for the rest of the night, chattering away as is his habit on such occasions, and Gotham’s criminal element finds the Batman’s fists slightly more unforgiving than usual.

 

\----^^----

 

If such an algorithm were ran on the Batcomputer, it would find Nightwing’s visits to Gotham had increased by 47,93% over the past seven weeks.

A thorough review of the data generated by the team’s tracking devices would reveal that certain spots in the city had been rigged to redirect their ping to nearby coffee shops, stores and other manner of businesses that would raise no eyebrows.

 

\----^^----

 

Batman and Nightwing’s teamwork had started before sundown, with reassuring Tim that every Robin was suspended from service during Finals. “Studying comes first”, Dick had said in a half-decent impression of Batman while he thought Bruce was too engrossed on the phone with Diana.

From there, it was a routine night of curbing petty thieves. Three a.m. found them perched on a rooftop watching the street below. The wind was messing Dick’s hair and Bruce’s chest felt tight as he realised that in the absence of pressing issues, his mind wondered about running fingers through Dick’s silky hair, helping him out of the suit, shaving together in the morning.

All those years ago, bringing Dick into his life, into every aspect of it, had been an imprudent call. Looking at him now, Bruce could only think that joy should always win over fear.

 

He went dark and signalled for Dick to silence his comm unit as well.

 

 _Well, here goes nothing_. He got called out often enough for hiding behind the cloak to avoid his business. This wasn’t a conversation for the Bat.

 

He wished he could bring himself to say _I want you very, very badly_ , but the best he could do was pull the cowl back and hope that Dick would be able to read the crushing longing in his eyes and, as usual, take the leaps Bruce can’t.

 

***

 

Dick had to do a double take. The man was pulling back the cowl, exposing the earnest line of Bruce’s eyebrows. There wasn’t a whole lot that could get Bruce Wayne’s jaw to not be clenched in righteous certainty, and even less that would make him bare his face while still in the suit. It had remained on while they faced otherworldly threats, environmental catastrophes, incapacitating injury and certain death. Dick couldn’t for the life of him imagine what about this run-of-the-mill patrol night could possibly warrant this.

 

Blue eyes searched over his face, heavy with emotion and need. They settled on his lips.

 

“Dick,” he whispered in his Bruce voice, and it was like a blow to Dick’s solar plexus.  

 

Thankfully, he recovered before Bruce could mistake his shock for rejection. Bruce’s lips had just began turning downwards, no doubt preparing to lapse into a decade or two of self-punishment, when Dick stepped into his personal space and unceremoniously claimed his mouth.

 

It wasn’t a great kiss. Their teeth clashed a bit. Bruce lifted his arms as though to put them around Dick, then seemed to think better of it and just set one hand on his left upper arm. Dick didn’t plaster his body languidly against Bruce like he’d wanted to for years; he was nearly crawling out of his skin with nervousness because they were finally, actually kissing and Bruce wasn’t being his usual intense and demanding self. He was being so damn _careful_. 

 

They parted for air. Bruce’s eyes were roaming over what little he could see of Dick’s face this close. The hand on his arm didn’t ease its grip as would’ve been natural, but tightened it instead, and that was when it dawned on Dick. He smiled his million-watt, winning smile that he hoped would convey _yes Bruce, I AM enjoying this_ , and leaned in for another kiss. A little probing and there was tongue involved, and now this was a whole other ball game. Bruce’s free hand cupped Dick’s chin as they tasted each other, one of Dick’s gloved hands resting against Bruce’s side and the other burying itself into the man’s cowl-mussed hair. He tilted his head to grant Bruce access as the older man mouthed his way along Dick’s jawline, then down the curve of his neck, sending shivers down his spine and making his suit feel tight in strategic places. He ran his hand down Bruce’s muscular back and as much as he could reach of his left thigh. His heart was pounding in his ears. He knew every line of Bruce’s body, was attuned to the ways it coiled and sprung and moved and pushed, but it felt like uncharted territory with this new energy thrumming between them, Bruce’s breath hot against his skin, the night around them ripe with static and promise.

 

He let out an undignified little whine when Bruce stopped exploring his neck to rest their foreheads together, sliding his hand around to Dick’s nape.

 

“Let me do this right.”

 

Dick snorted softly.

 

“You don’t need to wine and dine me.”

“Hm.” Bruce squeezed his neck reassuringly, even as he took a step back to look at him. “But you deserve better than a filthy rooftop.”

“Or the hood of the Batmobile?”

 

It was out of his mouth before he’d had a chance to think it through. Wise-cracking was what he did when the stakes were too high.

If the cowl were still on, it would’ve covered the tell-tale flush of Bruce’s neck, evidence that Dick hadn’t been the only one to entertain that particular scenario. He could almost see Bruce’s resolve fraying at the edges. It felt good to be the one doing this to him, scratching at that adamant self-restraint, but Dick’s heart really skipped a beat when the older man visibly pulled himself together. Poor Bruce, it must’ve cost him every drop of his massive willpower to overcome his breeding, upbringing and iron-clad notions of right and wrong for long enough to proposition his former ward. It was the least Dick could do to go easy on the guy.

 

“Fine.” He tugged Bruce’s cowl back on, then stole a peck at his chin for good measure. “So, you’ll call me?”

 

He wiggled his eyebrows playfully.

 

Bruce’s answer was to tug him in for more kissing, this time unhurried, savouring and showing off his quick-learner skills by interspersing tongue and little kisses in that way that made Dick’s knees give out a little. Or maybe that was just the proximity to this man.

 

Dick saluted, then shot a line and grappled out of view. The bike ride back home would do wonders to calm his breathing rate.

 

\----^^----

 

Bruce’s mind was on autopilot until he rested his head on the pillow. Only then did the safety hatch snap open so that the torrent of overthinking could sweep him.

What the hell had he been thinking? He couldn’t use the playboy act with Dick, and his default setting wouldn’t do either. He wanted to be _pleasant_ , good company, to make Dick’s stomach flutter.

He didn’t just want to keep what they had and be allowed to bend Dick over the nearest flat surface. He wanted to give Dick the world, and he had absolutely no idea where to start.

All the data in his possession indicated that he had Dick’s interest. He had never had trouble building up from that. Regardless of anything else, there was affection and trust between them. Desire as well. (He could still feel Dick beneath his hands, smell him.)

 _‘The hood of the Batmobile’_. It had almost certainly been a quip, and yet… and yet. Bruce licked his lips.  

 

He probably wasn’t good enough for Dick, but that had never stopped them before.

 

\----^^----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, this isn't the last chapter after all! I'm rethinking the series structure and shuffling some stuff around. I hope you'll enjoy what's coming next on this story :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! Sorry about the long wait between chapters. RL happened.  
> This one is short, but I didn't want to keep you hanging any longer. I hope you'll enjoy it! :)  
> Pls note the updated rating.

“Bruce? Is everything okay?”

“Yes. Did I wake you? I thought you might be getting in from patrol.”

 

Bruce sounded embarrassed and a little accusatory all at once. Luckily, Dick was a pro at not fretting over the big guy’s clumsy mammoth emotions.

 

“It was a slow night, I thought I’d catch up on some sleep. Got back about an hour ago.”

“I see.”

 

Dick laid back down on his bed and stretched. Bruce’s telephone skills weren’t the sharpest; he often seemed to forget that silent brooding didn’t carry that well over the line.

 

“Well,” he said pleasantly, “what’s up?”

“I said I’d call you.”

 

Oh. That cleared the remnants of sleep right out of Dick’s eyes.

 

“You did.”

 

_Gee, Grayson. For this to stand a chance, at least one of you has got to manage complete sentences._

 

Suddenly, the fact that he didn’t have any clothes on became a source of great consternation. Because he could picture Bruce, suit still on minus cowl and having just finished logging the night’s reports, surrounded by the silent depths of the cave where everything was grave purpose.

He’d often wanted to blow the man on that very chair.

 

He tugged the sheets to cover his midsection and took a calming breath. Some power imbalance was always going to play a part in their relationship, and he was comfortable enough in his skin to own up to the fact that he kind of liked that.

 

“Bruce–”

“So, I was thinking–”

 

They spoke over each other and cut themselves short.

 

“Go ahead,” offered Bruce.

“No, please.”

“I was thinking we could have dinner in Blüdhaven. Less of a chance of being spotted, and you could show me around town.”

“Sounds great.”

 

Dick sincerely hoped his warm smile would translate over the line. He knew what this was. The so-called prince of Gotham did get a lot of press attention (and what a nightmare it would be if they had to deal with scandal before even having had a chance to do anything saucy or figure stuff out by themselves), but this was a Gesture. It was Bruce signalling that he’d try his best to not hog decision-making in this thing they were getting into.

 

“Does tomorrow work for you?”

“Yes. Seven o’clock?” That would leave them enough time before patrol.

“I’ll be there. Good night, Dick.”

“Good night, Bruce.”

 

\----^^----

 

When he opens the door, there is Bruce, rocking the hell out of a bespoke suit and exuding that quiet self-confidence that takes Dick’s breath away. And for once he’s allowed to stare all he wants, to run his eyes up and down the man’s handsome body.

 

“Not pulling any punches, are we?” he says in a mock-defeated tone.

 

Bruce smiles at that, the quick curl of lips of when Batman is about to pounce on some purse-snatchers, and Dick realises that this evening will be easier and infinitely more difficult than he had imagined.

 

 _“That's what you get for falling in love! You get a little but it's never enough,”_ whines Bon Jovi from the stereo. They’d been helping pump Dick up for the evening.

 

“Come on in. I’ll just be a sec.”

 

Bruce steps into the living room. Dick can smell his discreet, high-end cologne. Part of him wants to make nice, but tonight will set the tone for whatever lies ahead for him and Bruce, and Dick’s pretty certain it won’t amount to much if they stand on ceremony. So he turns on his heel and makes for the bedroom, back to the ironing board with his BPD uniform shirt. He just needs to finish the bits between the buttons. He does dial down the stereo volume, though. Wisdom lies in moderation.

 

* * *

 

Bruce watches as Dick disappears into the bedroom. On a regular date, he’d be scanning his surroundings for clues about the girl’s preferences and personality. But he’s been here before (both officially and uninvited), and what’s more, he knows Dick. Extensively. Some might argue that even a little too well for romance, but from where Bruce is standing there’s plenty of unknown. Enough that his stomach hasn’t faded into the unawareness that is the hallmark of calm.

Dick had looked so good. Dressed up but not armoured in a suit like himself.

The open appraisal had felt good, too. It filled the space between them with the right kind of tension, the one before a calculated jump, the one from the rooftop where they’d first kissed.

 

Dick emerged from the bedroom with a coat and a winning smile.

 

“Okay, I’m ready to go.”

“Where to?”

 

* * *

 

There was a moment’s awkwardness as Bruce held the Lamborghini’s door open for him, but soon they were on their way.

Choosing a restaurant would’ve been a trying task if Dick had had a lot of time on his hands. As it was, he had a busy day at the precinct and ended up grateful that despite Alfred’s excellence Bruce wasn’t a choosy eater.

 

“Blüdhaven’s gourmet scene isn’t much compared to Gotham’s, but I think you’ll like this place.”

“I’m sure we’ll have an excellent meal,” Bruce assured him, not taking his eyes off the road.

 

Good old Bruce, always willing things into existence. It wasn’t bad, having that determination pushing for tonight’s success. Dick had been preparing to handle nerves, but he really should have known better.

 

* * *

 

La gourmandise was a charming bistro with live piano music at a volume that allowed for conversation. The reservation was under Grayson, so no paparazzi had been tipped off to ambush them at the door. The ambient light was dimmed for an intimate atmosphere and provided the extra advantage of making it less likely that people would recognise the face of Wayne Ent. and snap covert pictures, something Bruce had grudgingly resigned himself to as phones with cameras became more and more accessible.

The staff was welcoming but nobody greeted Dick warmly, so this wasn’t a place he made a habit of coming to. It had been selected with Bruce in mind, as became evident from Dick’s furtive looks checking for his approval.

 

As soon as they were seated, the maître d’ approached their table to know if they would like to look at the wine selection. Dick raised his eyebrows in a silent question. Both of them would be patrolling later, but a split half bottle shouldn’t hurt. _‘You don’t need to wine and dine me’_. Bruce wanted to, though, except the intention wasn’t plying Dick, just sweeping him off his feet as he deserved.

 

“This place is nice,” he offered, holding Dick’s gaze.

“They make great lamb chops.” 

 

Bruce made an appreciative noise and tried to locate them on the menu to check the side courses. Soon their order was placed, their wine arrived and was found satisfactory and all that remained was to be on the receiving end of each other’s expectant stares.

Conversation could be a landmine-ridden field. They were familiar enough to forego small talk, yet many of their usual topics would be uncomfortable. Dick was putting on a brave face, but the fact that he wasn’t breaking the silence made it stand out. Luckily, Bruce had something nearly fail-proof up his sleeve. He leaned in conspiratorially.

 

“Did I tell you about Nigma’s latest puzzle?”

 

It worked like a charm. One of the perks of dating a fellow crime-fighter should be not having to pretend that a bruised arm was a jet ski accident. Besides, Dick loved talking shop. Always had. It was their neutral ground, the last thing to have deteriorated between them and the first to be stitched back together.

 

Talk flowed easily after that, and on the way back from the restaurant Dick pointed out various buildings and landmarks where Nightwing had gotten up to all sorts of trouble and acrobatics.

 

* * *

 

As they drew near his apartment building, Dick found himself running out of chatter. Mostly because there was only one thing he wanted to say.

 

“Wanna come upstairs?”

“Yes.”

 

Bruce’s answer was immediate and decisive, pre-empting Dick’s usual crack at the innuendo because his mouth was suddenly too dry. No more was said until Dick closed the living room door behind them, shutting out the world. Then Bruce was right into Dick’s personal space, all resolve and hunger, mouth and hands and that immovable bulk crowding Dick against a wall, exploring the shape of his body. There was a low groan as Bruce’s hands cupped his ass and Dick wanted to grin at the confirmation that his stoic mentor was as susceptible to it as anyone, but his mouth was busy with Bruce’s tongue.

In fact, all of him was busy with Bruce’s tongue as the man kissed Dick with that intense thoroughness he put into the things that mattered. When they parted for air, Dick’s hair was a mess, his lips were swollen, his face felt hot and Bruce looked pleased by all this, eyes roaming over the result of his handiwork.

Dick had a sudden vision of Bruce methodically taking him apart for hours. He knew then in his heart that it was more than he could take without screwing this up, so he reached for Bruce’s hand to place it over the bulge on his crotch.

He watched in satisfaction as the information registered and Bruce’s gaze became sharp, his eyes dark with want and Dick felt heady that his desire could set Bruce on fire like this, give him a Goal. In short, precise movements Bruce unzipped Dick’s jeans and tugged down his underwear. There was a pause then, Bruce’s eyes darting up as if to check whether Dick was on board with this, which _of fucking course yes_ , as though his gigantic boner wasn’t indication enough.

As if Bruce was just waiting for the moment Dick would decide this wasn’t a good idea after all.

Good heavens.

Before Dick could think of what to do, his hips bucked of their own accord. Just a little bit. Then Bruce’s hand wrapped around his cock and Dick died a little because he had imagined that a million times but had absolutely not been prepared for how it would actually feel, for Bruce’s steadying hand on his waist and his nibbling on Dick’s collarbone and the smell and heat of him this close, so close, all over and around Dick and making everything else fade away.

Bruce obliged at once when Dick nuzzled the top of his head in search of a kiss. They made out like teenagers as Bruce jacked him off urgently, rutted against Dick’s thigh. Dick grabbed a hold of Bruce’s belt because _too many clothes_ , and his heart fell when Bruce drew back. But it turned out Bruce just wanted to get a lube sachet from his pocket, and that nearly knocked Dick’s knees out with the enormousness of how frigging much he loved this man and his manic need to plan ahead and also how hot it was that Bruce had actively prepared to have sex with him tonight.

While Dick was swooning, Bruce pushed his trousers out of the way, got some lube on his palm and took both their erections in hand, letting out a soft sigh.

Fireworks. No, a supernova. Dick must deserve some sort of medal for not coming undone right then, as a decade’s worth of lust boiled down to this moment.

As though skin-on-skin contact weren’t enough to send Dick skyrocketing, Bruce had had enough time to learn Dick’s preferred rhythm and how he got good goosebumps from licking at the shell of his ear. Dick ran his hands down Bruce’s back, gripped his ass, felt up his thighs and powerful arms, greedily put his mouth everywhere he could reach. He wanted to say something to warn Bruce that he was close, but all that came out were pitiful, desperate moans until he climaxed.

It took him a moment to focus. His whole body was tingling, and his knees seemed to be made of rubber. Bruce had stopped touching himself and just stood there with a massive hard-on, staring at him like Dick had accomplished something amazing and he didn’t really know how to follow it.

Dick pulled Bruce flush against him.

 

“Do you want to-”

“Just touch me,” asked Bruce roughly. Dick noticed him angle his head down to watch.  

 

He was sticky with Dick’s cum, warm and heavy in Dick’s hand. He must’ve come in under a minute. It was quiet. Next thing, he kissed Dick within an inch of his life.

 

* * *

 

As soon as he regained a modicum of his senses, Bruce was swamped with shame. He had set out to build a good, solid foundation for their new relationship but had ended up treating Dick the exact same as his anonymous trysts. They hadn’t even taken their clothes off. He held on tight to Dick and crushed their mouths together, desperately trying to get across that he could do better, _be_ better.

After a moment, he realised that part of the movement of Dick’s lips beneath his was him trying to speak.

 

“Bruce. Bruce. Just let me get something to clean us up a bit, okay?”

 

Dick was dishevelled. Out of breath. Ecstatic.

How?

 

He released Dick, then later accepted the offered rag and went through the motions of recomposing himself, all the while scanning the younger man for signs of upset.

 

Dick checked his watch. “I think we still got a couple minutes.” He grinned up at Bruce. “Isn’t this nice, not having to make up excuses? What’s your route tonight?”

“Midtown. Yours?” Bruce’s thoughts were reeling.

“Harbor. Do they still have that 24-h hot-dog cart on Monolith Square?”

“Mrs. Wilson is still there, yes.”

“Is she ok with you now, or do you still need to send the boy wonder?”

 

Dick was chattering. They were about to go on (their separate) patrol(s). The top button of Dick’s shirt was undone. His chest was still flushed from their earlier exertion. Bruce wanted… so many things, so much.

Too much.

 

He cupped Dick’s head for a kiss. “See you soon,” he promised.

 

\----^^----

 

The following morning, Bruce stared forlornly at his cup of coffee.

 

“Alfred.”

“Sir?”

 

His mouth was open, but nothing was coming out. There was just no good way to say this.

 

“Last night I went on a date. With Dick. Grayson.” The words were bile on his mouth.

“I see.”

 

Alfred’s many _I see_ ’s encompassed via intonation a wide array of meanings, from ‘I really don’t see at all’ to ‘I’m reserving judgement on this’ to ‘This level of nonsense doesn’t warrant an answer’ to ‘Please, go on’, among others. His oldest friend had no problem speaking up when he felt so inclined, so Bruce chose to take his current bland expression at face value.

 

“I don’t know where it’s headed, and I’ll do my best, but I just… I want you to know that it’s not something I planned.”

“I’m afraid life seldom is, Master Bruce.”

 

\----^^----


End file.
